Empire Rising Page 12

  As Phoenix joined him at seventy-five feet, Vandal realized he had run out of ideas, and time. In a few seconds, the leading Hongqi missiles would reach them. He was confident he and Phoenix could evade the first missile. But without chaff, he and Michalski had the skill and equipment to evade—at best—one missile at a time. Two missiles would be far too difficult.

  Michalski’s voice cut across his headset. “Viper Two. Got any more bright ideas?”

  “I got nothing,” Vandal replied.

  “Then I think it’s time we part ways,” Michalski said. “I’ll see you back at the farm.”

  “Roger that, Viper One.”

  Michalski’s Hornet banked left and then Vandal banked right, both jets continuing to skim along the ocean’s surface. Vandal checked his APG. Three missiles had peeled off toward Michalski, while two followed him. A few seconds later, Michalski’s jet rocketed skyward, her afterburners burning blue-white, with three red pinpricks following beneath her. She wanted maneuvering room, something she didn’t have near the ocean’s surface. But Vandal didn’t see any hope in that course of action; there was no way she could outmaneuver three missiles. Hell, there was no way he could outmaneuver two missiles.

  As the two Hongqi trailing him closed the remaining distance, Vandal realized he needed to make a decision—head skyward like Michalski or come up with some other plan. If only he had another burst of chaff, he could try the same trick on these two missiles as the last two. As he grasped for a plan, he finally decided to try the same ploy as before, only this time without chaff. It’d be risky, with nothing to distract the two incoming missiles from his Hornet. But if he could maneuver his aircraft out of the way fast enough, resulting in the two missiles locking on each other, it just might work.

  Vandal increased altitude to one thousand feet to give himself some maneuvering room, monitoring the first incoming Hongqi on the APG-79. Just before the Hongqi closed to within range of its proximity fuse, Vandal juked hard left and kicked in his afterburners. The first missile sped by without detonating. Vandal juked hard left again, completing a 180-degree turn. He was now heading directly toward the second missile. As expected, the first missile turned around, and was now following him in hot pursuit.

  He ran the mental calculations again, slowing his Hornet slightly so both missiles would reach his Hornet simultaneously. Only this time, there would be no chaff to confuse them while he attempted to evade. He would have to wait even longer, until the missiles were very close, so neither missile detected his evasive maneuver until it was too late, hoping neither missile passed close enough to his Hornet to detonate—but hopefully close enough to destroy each other.

  Both missiles had closed to within fifteen seconds when a bright orange fireball erupted at two o’clock high. He dropped his eyes to his instruments as Viper One disappeared from the display. A lump formed in his throat as he realized Liz Michalski was dead. But he had little time to reflect on the loss of his wingman. He had more pressing concerns.

  As the two missiles closed the remaining distance, Vandal opted for a 3-D canopy roll at the last second. He pulled his control stick back hard and right, hopefully twisting out of the way as the missiles sped beneath him, hoping even more that his Hornet wasn’t torn to shreds by debris from the two missiles as they exploded.

  The plan was complicated and difficult to execute. Vandal timed it perfectly with respect to the trailing missile. His Hornet twisted out of the way of the Hongqi, and the missile was unable to change direction quickly enough, passing beneath Vandal’s Hornet. However, the missile approaching from ahead arrived one second later than Vandal anticipated, and it noticed the target’s sudden upward movement.

  The missile turned sharply, slamming into the fuselage of Vandal’s Hornet. The missile detonated, igniting the Hornet’s two fuel tanks in secondary explosions. Shards of white-hot shrapnel tore through Vandal’s body as the cockpit was engulfed in flames. Vandal, encased in the burning wreckage of his Hornet, plummeted toward the ocean’s surface.

  22

  USS NIMITZ • USS LAKE ERIE

  “Loss of Four-Alpha-One and Four-Alpha-Two.”

  The Strike Controller’s report aboard Nimitz was professional and monotone, failing to match the panic rising inside Captain Alex Harrow. Standing in the aircraft carrier’s Combat Direction Center, Harrow had monitored the carrier air wing’s engagement with the Chinese missiles. The number of missiles was impressive, with China expending over four missiles for each aircraft. Even worse, the capability of those missiles was much better than expected. Nimitz and George Washington had lost their entire first cycle of twenty aircraft each.

  Standing beside Harrow was the CAG, Captain Helen Corcoran, Commander of Carrier Air Wing ELEVEN. Her eyes were focused on the Video Wall, a collection of two eight-by-ten-foot displays mounted next to each other, with a half-dozen smaller monitors on each side. With her features illuminated by the blue glow of the CDC’s equipment consoles, her face had paled as the Wing’s losses mounted. The United States would prevail in this conflict—of that Harrow was sure. The price America would pay in the process was the only variable. Unfortunately, those losses were mounting at an unexpected rate.

  A second wave of red symbols appeared on the screen, headed toward Nimitz and George Washington’s second cycle of aircraft. Unbelievably, the second wave of missiles was just as dense as the first. As Harrow evaluated their Wing’s predicament, Captain Sue Laybourn, the Operations Officer or OPSO, approached the two Captains. “George Washington is recalling her strike package. Request your intentions.”

  Corcoran shifted her eyes toward Harrow. “I can’t risk losing another twenty aircraft. Until we figure out how to effectively jam or decoy these missiles, I’ve got no choice.”

  Even though it wasn’t his call—only the CAG or the Admiral in the Tactical Flag Communication Center aboard Nimitz could recall their fighters—Harrow nodded his agreement.

  Corcoran turned to Captain Laybourn. “Recall the strike package.”

  Laybourn relayed the orders to the Strike Controllers via the Tactical Action Officer, and Harrow watched the electronic display on the Video Wall as the second and third cycles of Air Wing ELEVEN aircraft turned back toward the carrier. The first battle of the war would be chalked up as a Chinese victory; one third of Nimitz’s air wing had been destroyed while not an iota of damage had been inflicted upon Chinese forces. But just when Harrow thought it couldn’t get worse, a wave of yellow symbols appeared on the display, originating from China’s interior rather than the coast. A few seconds later, the yellow icons switched to red symbols with a sharp point, representing hostile surface-to-surface missiles. China was turning its attention from the inbound aircraft to the carriers that had launched them.

  The OPSO stepped away to confer with the Tactical Action Officer, returning a moment later. “Multiple DF-21 missiles inbound. Request permission to set General Quarters.”

  “Set General Quarters,” Harrow ordered.

  Laybourn passed the order, and Harrow’s stomach tightened as the gong-gong-gong of the ship’s General Alarm reverberated in CDC, followed by the announcement, “General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations. Move up and forward on the starboard side, down and aft on port.”

  Ten DF-21 Dong Feng ballistic missiles were inbound toward the two carriers. In a few minutes, Nimitz and George Washington strike groups would engage missiles descending at 2.5 miles per second. The carriers were defenseless against this type of missile; not even their aircraft could shoot one down. That task fell to the strike group’s Aegis class cruisers and destroyers, armed with SM-3 anti-ballistic missiles. With General Quarters called away, Harrow would normally have headed to the Bridge. However, there was little he could do against DF-21 missiles. It would be up to Nimitz’s escorts, and their efforts were more easily monitored from CDC. It was here that he would await Nimitz’s fate.

  * * *

  The DF-21 was a massive missile
by anti-ship standards. Descending from an almost vertical trajectory, it was designed to impact the carrier’s deck. Carrying a thirteen-hundred-pound warhead, a single Dong Feng missile would blast a forty-foot-wide crater in the Flight Deck, terminating the carrier’s ability to conduct flight operations.

  Harrow examined the left main monitor of the Video Wall, displaying the inbound missiles and the ships that would shoot them down. The fourteen Aegis class cruisers and destroyers were deployed in a semicircle to the west of George Washington and Nimitz.

  As he examined the cruiser and destroyer icons, he heard Captain Laybourn beside him exclaim, “What the hell…?”

  Harrow looked down at Laybourn’s console. It was cluttering with new missile contacts, appearing where the DF-21 missiles were, as if they were reproducing. Harrow figured these DF-21 missiles were a new variant, releasing smaller warheads, which would complicate the carrier’s missile defense. The cruisers and destroyers in his strike group would have to start launching sooner, as there were a lot more targets now. But none of his escorts began firing. Harrow’s eyes went to the video feeds, searching for evidence of missile launches. But there was nothing. The ships’ vertical launchers were silent. Something was wrong.

  * * *

  Aboard USS Lake Erie, Captain Laybourn’s counterpart watched in stunned silence as chaos erupted in the Combat Information Center. Ghost bogies had appeared on Lieutenant Commander Shveta Thakrar’s console, and the trackers had begun flitting all over the place, switching between contacts. The Lake Erie was paralyzed, unable to determine which contacts were the real DF-21 missiles. The cruiser could no longer defend the carriers from the incoming missiles.

  As the Tactical Action Officer, Thakrar was seated in the center of the “Front Table,” or first row of consoles in the cruiser’s Combat Information Center, with the ship’s Captain on her left and the Combat Systems Coordinator on her right. Thakrar glanced up at one of the four fifty-inch flat panel screens on the bulkhead in front of her. The five incoming DF-21 missiles had morphed into over fifty bogies, and their Aegis Warfare System could not determine which contacts were the missiles and which were ghost contacts. As the Tactical Action Officer in charge of operations in CIC, it was Thakrar’s responsibility to sort out this mess.

  Thakrar turned in her seat and shouted over the cacophony of excited conversations. “Attention in CIC.” She waited a few seconds for silence before continuing. “Status report.”

  The Systems Test Officer replied, “Every console in CIC is affected. The system is refusing to warm start. We’ve tried three times. It looks like the only option is a cold start.”

  Thakrar assessed the situation—it would take ten minutes for a cold start, and by then it’d be too late. The DF-21 missiles would have already hit the carriers.

  “Not an option,” she replied. “Any other ideas?”

  There was strained silence for a moment, until the Combat Systems Coordinator next to her, Senior Chief Mario Caiti, spoke. “We could shift over to ACB-16. It’s a developmental build, and they gave us the ability to warm start directly into it.”

  “ACB-16 isn’t authorized for use,” the Systems Test Officer interjected. “It’s loaded aboard us strictly for testing.”

  Commander Thakrar evaluated Senior Chief Caiti’s recommendation. There wasn’t much time to debate how functional ACB-16 was, nor ponder how many rules they were about to break. She glanced to her left, at the Lake Erie’s Captain, Mary Cordeiro.

  “Screw authorization,” Cordeiro said. “Warm start into ACB-16.”

  The Systems Test Officer turned to his console, initiating a warm start of Lake Erie’s Aegis Warfare System into the test build. A minute later, the consoles in the Combat Information Center sprang to life. The operators focused on their screens, as did Lieutenant Commander Thakrar. To her relief, the system returned ten clean bogies, five headed toward Nimitz and five toward George Washington.

  * * *

  In Nimitz’s Combat Direction Center, Captain Harrow watched as SM-3s began streaking up from Lake Erie. But only Lake Erie. Her SM-3s headed toward the five missiles descending toward Nimitz, but Lake Erie had fired late, and had insufficient time to launch a second round if her SM-3 missiles missed. Harrow watched the display as four of the five missiles hit their target. But one DF-21 missile made it through. Now it was up to Nimitz to defend herself.

  Captain Laybourn assigned the incoming DF-21 to the carrier’s anti-air NATO Sea Sparrow Missile System and authorized Weapons Free for the Rolling Airframe missiles and CIWS Gatling gun. The DF-21 streaked down toward Nimitz. Sea Sparrow and Rolling Airframe missiles were launched in succession and both missed their target, leaving only the CIWS system. But Harrow knew the CIWS would be unable to engage a missile descending at such a high angle and speed.

  The TAO announced, “Missile inbound. All hands brace for shock!”

  Harrow counted down the seconds before impact, grabbing the nearest I beam to brace himself.

  The DF-21 impacted Nimitz’s Flight Deck with a massive jolt. The explosion rumbled through the carrier, followed by tremors of secondary explosions. On the carrier’s Damage Control Status Board, red symbols illuminated downward from the Flight Deck through the O-3, Hangar, and Main Decks, plus an additional three decks in a circular pattern radiating outward.

  Harrow shifted his eyes to the video feeds canvassing the Flight Deck. Orange flames leapt skyward from a massive crater in the aft section of the Flight Deck, the fire licking the twisted metal edges of the gaping hole. He studied the red symbols on the status board, his eyes shifting uneasily toward midship, where the nearest ammunition magazine was located. If the fire caused the ammunition magazine to overheat, it’d be over. Nimitz would be turned into scrap metal.

  Darkness enveloped CDC and the emergency battle lanterns flickered on in response. Harrow heard the forward emergency diesel rumble to life, telling him both reactors had SCRAMed, leaving Nimitz with minimal electrical power until one of the reactors could be brought back on-line. Even worse, the aircraft carrier was slowing; without an operable reactor she had no propulsion. As Nimitz drifted to a halt, Harrow’s eyes shifted from the massive hole in its Flight Deck to the fires spreading on the Damage Control Status Board. The amount of damage they had sustained from a single missile was stunning.

  Suddenly remembering George Washington had been targeted by five of the DF-21 missiles, Harrow turned his attention to his sister carrier. Operating twenty miles to the north, she was visible on video feeds streaming into Nimitz’s CDC, relayed from the one of the tanker Super Hornets circling above. Against the background of dawn’s early light, five black plumes spiraled upward from the carrier, and incredibly, she was already listing heavily to starboard. She was taking on water. One of the DF-21s or the secondary explosions must have penetrated the carrier’s hull beneath the waterline. The damage had to be catastrophic. Harrow’s features hardened. It looked like George Washington was on its way to the bottom of the Pacific.

  Harrow forced his thoughts back to Nimitz, and just as important, the two returning air wings. Both air wings would have to land on Nimitz. That was, if Nimitz’s crew was able to gain control of the fires and overcome the gaping hole in its Flight Deck. If Nimitz didn’t return to flight operations, their aircraft would be forced to Bingo to Kadena or the Philippines, assuming they had enough fuel. If not, the pilots would be forced to eject and let their aircraft crash into the ocean, effectively neutralizing two of the Pacific Fleet’s five carriers.

  As Harrow dwelled on the disastrous scenario, three new symbols appeared on the left display of the Video Wall: red semicircles with the rounded end downward, representing submerged contacts. China’s submarines were moving in for the kill. Without propulsion, Nimitz was a sitting duck.

  THE SACRIFICE

  23

  CNS CHANG CHENG

  Commander Zeng Yong rotated swiftly on the attack periscope of his Shang class nuclear-powered submarine, the CNS Cha
ng Cheng, pausing for longer than he should have. It was a sight to behold: one of America’s great aircraft carriers sinking. Zeng swung the periscope around, stopping to examine his target, the second carrier, marked by a single black plume on the horizon. Resuming his clockwise scan, he spotted two destroyers—one on each side of his submarine—forming a screen in front of his target. In a few minutes, Zeng and his crew would pass between the two warships and their helicopters equipped with dipping sonars and lightweight torpedoes. A few minutes more and their target would be within range of the Chang Cheng’s heavyweight Yu-6 torpedoes.

  The Chang Cheng’s Periscope Attendant, standing between the submarine’s two scopes, called out loudly, “Time!”

  Zeng stepped back, pressing the Lower Periscope button on the bulkhead behind him. The scope had been up for thirty seconds, the time limit he had set for periscope exposure. Not only did Zeng need to worry about being detected by the sonar systems aboard the destroyers and their helicopters, he also had to ensure his ship wasn’t detected by periscope search radars.

  The attack scope descended to the bottom of the well and Zeng turned his attention to the fire control consoles just forward of the two periscopes, studying the red symbols on their screens. The two destroyers were holding steady on course and speed, giving no indication they had detected Zeng’s submarine. It appeared the aircraft carrier was dead in the water, making his job that much easier.

  Four days earlier, Zeng had left port along with two other Shang class submarines, and they had caught an American submarine monitoring the port of Zhoushan. Zeng’s orders were clear. He had been surprised at how easy it was; the American submarine hadn’t even fired back. Either the submarine’s captain had been caught unprepared or the vaunted American Submarine Force was more propaganda than capability. Not a single United States submarine remained in the Western Pacific—every submarine on deployment had been sunk.